Chapter 9: Embracing hope amidst suffering

Everyone firmly believed that magic was the power of the heart.

That was why Simon felt this world was so unreasonable.

According to what scholars had concluded, those who used fire magic were mostly bold and cheerful, while users of ice magic tended to be cold and reserved, and poison magic users were often gloomy and mysterious…

As for darkness, the opposite of light, it was magic only demons could wield, a force that brought disaster.

Fifty years ago, when the demons descended, the world was nearly dragged into total destruction. If not for the hero known as the Savior, Hughes, who stepped forward and drew the sacred blade left behind by the gods of the old world.

Humanity would have been reduced to ashes in that catastrophe, and the current prosperity would never have existed.

Yet even that hero, after sacrificing everything, including his life, and even with the divine weapon shattered, could only drive the demons away from this world.

After that battle, the population of the world dropped to a third of what it once was. People wept in the arms of the loved ones who survived, but even more stood silently before the ruins of the dead.

The terrifying truth was that the demons were still alive.

And someday in the future, they would return, bringing destruction once more.

Simon tried not to think about such things, but he could never truly avoid them.

At night, in his dreams, he often found himself in a murky darkness, like a deep, shadowy ocean, where he was submerged.

He dreamed of grotesque creatures beyond description.

In that darkness, countless twisted monsters lunged at him. Their forms were wildly distorted, some with mangled limbs, some exuding nauseating stench, others shrieking with piercing cries.

These blasphemous beings surged like a tide, yet passed effortlessly through his body. And then came the pain, like being devoured from within, so intense it seeped into his bones, leaving him drenched in cold sweat.

He relived this cycle again and again in his dreams.

There was no escape, no endurance, only sinking into the darkness.

Even after waking, the pain lingered like a phantom heartbeat.

And so, he believed, he truly possessed some immense power.

Simon was convinced that his dark magic would not bring destruction.

His heart was only heavy and sorrowful, filled with loss, but not hatred. At most, it held unwillingness and quiet defiance. He had no desire to destroy others.

Unlike Lyra.

Unlike her, who, after being abandoned by her family, chose to vent everything on others instead of using it to grow.

And then there were those nights when the shopkeeper healed him with holy light, when the monsters and nightmares vanished completely.

That was why Simon longed so deeply for that light.

His salvation.

****

Today’s first class was spellcasting.

Everyone except Simon could use magic.

He watched as the others controlled elements, striking humanoid targets.

Alice condensed ice in midair, tiny geometric crystals growing larger, sharper, colder, until they shot forward like arrows and burst into a dazzling bloom of frozen shards.

She had always been exceptional.

Most people were considered gifted if they had one magical affinity.

She had three.

“Simon?”

Alice happened to look up and noticed him watching her intently. She froze for a moment, then softly called his name.

“You’ve gotten even better, Alice!”

Simon smiled brightly, showing his teeth, and gave her a thumbs-up.

“Thank you!”

A faint blush appeared on Alice’s cheeks. She realized she should have known, Simon was not someone who would give up easily.

“Still, no matter what, you should keep trying,” Siegfried said, walking over after knocking down all his targets with wind magic. Vigus stood beside him, looking as indifferent as ever.

“I’ve already tried everything,” Simon replied, shaking his head helplessly.

“It’s fine. Your future is probably greater than ours, you’re the only one with dark magic.”

“Don’t mention it. That only matters if I can actually use it. Anyway, stop comforting me. Go to your classes.”

After the spellcasting class came specialized lessons by magic type, each taught by high-level mages.

Naturally, there was no teacher for Simon.

So after parting with his friends, he stood alone.

“Hey, Simon.”

A loud, unfamiliar voice came from behind.

Simon frowned and turned.

A blond boy stood there, decked out in gold and jewelry. Not quite noble, more like a nouveau riche.

Simon recognized him: Sherlock Garcia, a fire magic user. They had never interacted before.

“What do you want?”

“You look pretty free. Since you don’t have class, how about helping us clean up the equipment?”

As he spoke, several others gathered behind him, forming a wall.

‘Here it comes again.’

Simon sighed inwardly. As long as Alice and the others were around, things were fine. But whenever he was alone, trouble would find him.

“…Fine.”

He agreed reluctantly.

Sherlock tossed him a key with a grin.

“This is for the storage room. Leave the rest to you.”

“Let’s go.”

Just as they were about to leave…

“Sorry. Simon’s time after this belongs to me.”

They froze.

“…Huh?”

Simon’s heart sank at the familiar voice.

Of course.

This was worse.

The red-haired devil stood there, expressionless, pointing at him. Her crimson eyes were cold enough to freeze the air.

“Ah… Miss Lyra…”

Sherlock’s face flickered with unease. He had long heard of her reputation and had no desire to provoke her.

“Sorry, sorry, didn’t know he was already reserved.”

He turned to Simon, irritation returning instantly.

“Hey, give me back the key.”

Simon blinked, then handed it over.

Moments later, Sherlock and his group fled as if escaping danger.

Simon watched them go.

I want to run too.

He would rather carry equipment than be tortured by this devil.

“Simon, shouldn’t you thank me?”

Lyra’s voice was calm.

“Thank you for your help, Miss.”

His reply came instantly, he had gotten very used to saying “Miss.”

A smile slowly spread across her face.

Bad sign.

“Good. Since you’re grateful, run one extra lap today.”

“Now?!”

“Yes.” Her tone was ironclad.

It’s still morning!

“Move, Simon.”

Under that pressure, Simon had no choice but to start running.

If only Sherlock had been a bit braver, maybe he could’ve picked a fight with Lyra, and they’d both end up fighting each other while he slipped away.

But that was just wishful thinking.

When will this life ever end?